


Tigers, Dark Green

by bissonomy (Macdicilla)



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Barely M more like a hard T, Dreams, Grand Sneer, Guilt, Invented Locations, M/M, Repression, Thinly-Veiled Real World Locations, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/pseuds/bissonomy
Summary: Young Vetinari goes on the Grand Sneer in the aftermath of the revolution and the Winder assassination. It's very difficult to switch gears from that to a nice, calm trip, and being beset by strange dreams and nascent feelings for a classmate do not make it any easier.





	1. Tigers, Dark Green

**Author's Note:**

> I've written grand sneer fic before but this one does not occur in the same continuity.

**** Young Havelock Vetinari walked back to the Assassins’ Guild School in an altered mental state. He was at once extremely alert and aware of his surroundings—every sound, movement, and smell—and operating on an automatic, instinctual level. At no point had he decided to walk back to his dorms: his feet had just carried him there. Also, he was drenched in blood and starting to reek of it. But most of it was other people’s. 

It was dark out. Some ten paces away, a flash of lavender fabric in the shadows of the archway to the guild school’s garden caught his eye. He raised his knife without thinking. 

“It’s  _ me _ , Havelock!” a voice hissed. 

“Madam,” he said distantly, lowering his weapon, “my apologies.”

Swift as a diving bird, his aunt dashed towards him with open arms. It puzzled him, at first. Their family had never been so demonstratively affectionate, but he put his arms around her, staining her dress with blood. Then he felt her hands lifting his arms, patting his sides, and rotating him by the shoulders to look at his back. He realized she was checking him for open wounds. Besides a set of bruises and some admittedly nasty but non-fatal cuts on his hands and the outsides of his forearms, though, he was fine. 

Madam Meserole sighed with relief. 

“I was worried sick, Havelock, when you didn’t come back. For a moment I even thought you’d been–never mind, never mind. Oh, gods, that’s so much blood. You’re sticky with it.”

Her hands were sticky with it too, now, from touching him, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“What’s that in your mouth?” she asked. 

Vetinari hadn’t realized he had anything in his mouth. He spit out what remained of a sprig of lilac onto the cobblestones. 

“I fought alongside Keel’s men,” he heard himself say. He didn’t add that he had killed four people. As an Assassin, he wasn’t squeamish about death or causing it, and neither was his aunt, but he thought it was clear enough from the state of his clothing. 

“I heard they fought very bravely,” Madam said quietly. 

“Like tigers,” he said. “When he fell, they fell on the other side and ripped them to shreds. Oh. He– he fell, by the way. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, brushing some blood-wet hair out of his face. 

“I was– I tried– I nearly got there fast enough to warn him, like you asked me, but–”

“It’s fine, Havelock, it’s fine,” she said. 

“I tried to– I ran as fast as– I wasn’t quick enough, I couldn’t–”

“Hush, it’s fine, Havelock, it’s fine, try to be calm, please.”

She gripped him firmly by the shoulders. He was breathing shallowly and very fast.

“You need to rest. We’re going away tomorrow, early.”

“Right. I don’t think I– I don’t think,” Vetinari said, “I couldn’t– I can’t sleep.”

“I know,” said Madam Meserole, “you’ve just seen a lot.”

She opened her handbag and pulled out a very small bottle. It had a screw-off cap. She let two drops of the pale liquid inside fall into the cap and handed it to her nephew. 

He took it and swallowed, wrinkling his nose.

“Chloral,” he observed.

“Yes,” she said, “but it’s quite diluted. You have thirty minutes to get washed and changed, I’d say.”

“Okay,” he said

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” she said, “early.”

Vetinari nodded, and headed indoors.

It was warmer in his dormitory room, thankfully, than it was outdoors. He put his blood-ruined clothes on the fire, and washed his arms and face in a basin of water while they burned away. Once there was nothing left to burn, Vetinari put out the fire, groggily put on pyjamas, and curled up in bed. 

❃♞❃♞❃♞❃

He saw a corpse on the cobblestones. It was Keel’s, and it was cold.  It was far too cold, too soon. And the face was wrong. The face was wrong, and the wounds didn’t look fresh. The scars were in the right place but it wasn’t the same face. The face was cold to the touch and its deathly chill travelled up Vetinari’s arm and invaded his body.

He woke up with a shiver, and realized he’d kicked his covers off in his sleep.

He got up and re-lit the fire again. The weather was rather cold for May. Outside, it was drizzling mildly. It wasn’t dawn yet, but he had no intention of returning to bed.

Vetinari had a bit of a headache, but he still folded up his things and packed them up in his trunk anyway. His aunt had said that they’d be going away early. It probably had to do with old Lord Winder’s death, though he didn’t think he’d been found out so fast.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Madam came at dawn to wake him up and tell him to pack, but he was already awake and already packed. She smiled proudly. Although she had changed her blood-stained lavender dress for a more muted number in dark green cotton, it didn’t seem like she had slept at all that night. There were bags under her eyes. 

“I have this all figured out,” she said quietly, “so it’s going to be fine. The timing’s worked out perfectly.”

“Meaning that I’m already done with my preliminary levels, and many people take a gap year between their prelims and their undergrad, so it won’t look suspicious.”

“Right,” said Madam Meserole, “exactly.”

“And Snapcase doesn’t know it was me, because if he did, we’d be out of the city by now.”

“Correct,” she said.

“And since he doesn’t know it was me,” said Vetinari, starting to get an idea of the shape of things, “I can’t be the only one in my class leaving the city, because that would tip him off.”

Madam nodded.

“So glad we’re on the same page,” she said, and started to pace the room.

“What I’ve done is,” Madam began, “I’ve contacted the families of the top students in your year, to let them know that I heard Snapcase wanted dossiers on them, I said something like,”

Here her face and posture changed: her eyes widened and her arms hung weak and helpless before her chest. Her voice became higher and tremulous.

“‘How could  _ anyone _ believe our boys would do that? They’re very nearly still children. We have to send them somewhere safe.’”

Vetinari smiled silently into his hand, in spite of himself. His aunt’s impression of a distraught little lady was really quite good.

She began to make the bed for him.

“You have a wonderful alibi, by the way. ‘I wasn’t at the gala, I was painting a bully’s face black and orange.’ A master stroke. Hadn’t even thought about that.”

“Thank you,” said Vetinari politely. 

“So you’re taking a coach to Sto Helit with a student called Nathan Lewis, who was apparently top of the class in poisons. I have a trusted contact there who’ll be your driver for the rest of the trip. Unfortunately, young Lewis wanted to bring along a friend, and it  _ is _ that horrible boy who who burned your book. I’m really sorry about that.”

Vetinari shrugged.

“It’s fine. Downey only really acts out in front of an audience. I don’t think he’ll be as horrible if it’s just us and Lewis.”

“Do you think so?”

“Not particularly,” Vetinari answered solemnly, “but one can hope, Madam.”

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

At the coach depot, Lewis’ doting stepmother and father fussed over him and tidied his light brown hair as they bid him goodbye. Downey’s old mum gave him a few injunctions about good habits and cleanliness. Madam Roberta Meserole kissed her nephew on the forehead, which wasn’t easy, since they were the same height. 

“See you in six months, I suppose,” she said aloud in her sad little lady voice. “Don’t forget to write!”

Then, in an undertone, she added,

“Don’t write. I’ll meet you in Sto Helit in two weeks.”

“Yes, Madam,” Vetinari said, watching the other two young men board the coach. 

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Though it had rained the night before, it hadn’t rained too much, so the roads weren’t that bad. The air was more refreshing the further away they got from the city. The curious thing about the Ankh Stench, which was powerful enough to merit the capital letter, wasn’t so much that s lifetime of exposure to it made you accustomed to it as much as that exposure to it forced your body to dull its sense of smell in self-defense. The further the three young men, the coach driver, and the horses got away from the city and into the Sto plains, the more they became aware that things  _ had _ smells. They smelled the smells of dirt, of horses, and of wet grass.

The first several days of travel weren’t very eventful. They’d all been to Sto Kerrig and Sto Lat before, and there were only so many cabbage history and cabbage science museums that one could see before they all started to blend together into one light green mental mush. 

It was, moreover, proving to be a dreadfully rainy summer. There wasn’t much they could do outdoors, so they spent far too many nights indoors in inns playing card games, and, when they had grown bored of those, inventing new card games.

Downey, as predicted, was behaving himself, or at least behaving himself slightly more than usual. This was due less to the fact that he had less of an audience to show his cruelty off to, and more to the fact that Lewis actively tried to rein him in when possible. It was vaguely interesting to watch, Vetinari thought, because Lewis wasn’t direct about it. He had a system of gentle hints. Downey didn’t even seem to realize he was being led. 

Vetinari wondered why Lewis bothered. They’d scarcely exchanged a dozen words with each other at school. Perhaps he had some inner sense of decency, but it couldn’t be that strong since he was still friends with Downey. Perhaps it was out of softness. It was rumoured that he didn’t even want to be an Assassin after he graduated. He’d have made a good one. Lewis had the agility, the wits, the proficiency with weapons, and most of all, the mastery of poisons the job required– but he lacked the stomach. Maybe he lacked the stomach to witness Downey’s mean-spiritedness, but had finally grown enough stomach to do something about it. Well, it was rather late in the game for that, Vetinari thought.

“This game starts with six cards,” Lewis was saying, “Three in the hand and three face-down. Do you want me to deal you in, Vetinari?”

“I’ll just watch this round, thanks,” Vetinari answered, putting down his book.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

It was late at night when they finally entered Sto Helit. They checked in at the inn in separate rooms, and once Vetinari was certain that the others were asleep, he stole out to meet his aunt. Madam Meserole was staying in another inn some ten minutes’ walk away. The light was still on, and she was sitting up in bed with her hair down, reading. He rapped on the window before opening it, out of courtesy.

“Good morning,” Madam said.

“Only technically,” Vetinari said with a wan smile.

She got up from bed and handed him a slip of paper that had been tucked into her book. Vetinari read it, memorized the itinerary, and placed it on the fire. Madam smiled.

“My contact, Mr. Davings, has a copy too. It’s not secret, Havelock.”

“Never hurts to be cautious,” he answered with a shrug. “I don’t believe his copy says I’m meeting up with you in Vildeyva, does it?”

“Ah,” said Madam. “No. That  _ is _ secret.”

“What are we meeting up for? Are we changing drivers there too?”

Madam Meserole gave him a funny look.

“For? To see you and see how you are.”

Vetinari said nothing.

“The troubles are over. Would you prefer for me to have an ulterior motive?” she asked with a smile. “It’ll be a little while, but I can come up with one.”

“Goodnight, Madam,” Vetinari said.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

After a brief stay in Sto Helit, when they had run out of sights to see, the travelling party and their new coachman headed up the road through the Carrack mountains.

The journey was largely without trouble. They hadn’t been accosted by gnolls, which Downey seemed disappointed about, since he had never actually met one and wanted to know whether they smelled as bad as people claimed. No one had laughed at this joke.

On the fourth day of travel, they’d met a rough-looking man and a dwarf, who stood in the middle of the road to force the coach to stop. The man and the dwarf had considered themselves bandits initially, but upon seeing that the driver was armed, and upon seeing three well-armed young men step out of the coach they had held up, they had quickly decided they were actually road service repairmen. Especially after Lewis had neatly shot off the man’s hat, and implied he’d be willing to aim lower if necessary. He’d been a bit green in the face when he said that, though.

“Your horses want any, uh, oats, gentlemen?” offered the dwarf nervously.

“Thank you kindly,” said Mr. Davings, the driver.

His words were slightly difficult to make out, since he was holding a knife in his mouth. This was because his hands were occupied holding a heavy-duty crossbow.

“But you don’t actually seem to have any oats,” he finished.

“Oh, silly me, you’re right!” said the dwarf. His human companion seized him by the arm, and pulled him towards the side of the road.

“Forget our own heads next!” the human added over his shoulder.

And with that, the would-be road service repairmen ran off into the closest thicket.

“We could have won that fight,” mused Downey, once they were back in the coach.

“Wouldn’t you call that winning?” asked Vetinari.

“Technically, I guess,” Downey conceded. “But not  _ proper _ winning.”

“And what  _ would _ you call proper winning, Downey?” said Vetinari.

“Ladies, please,” said Lewis, rubbing his temples, “shut up.”

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Lewis had been frightened, Vetinari thought. He’d been trained as an Assassin and he’d been frightened, but not for his own life. He’d held his weapons with disgust. Vetinari didn’t know what to make of that. 

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Vildeyva was nestled in the Carrack mountains, rimwards of Zemphis. It was part of the country of Sto Lombia, which wasn’t at all in the Sto plains, but liked to feel like part of things. Terraced fields and stucco houses with brick tiles could be seen from the winding mountain roads, but not for long, since the sun was setting.

It was night when they arrived at the inn, which was near the edge of the town. Nights on the mountains were a little bit chilly, the innkeeper warned them. 

She had thought of suggesting they share rooms, since it would be easier to heat that way, but her Morporkian wasn’t what it used to be, and besides, four rooms was more income than less than four rooms. She’d heard somewhere that foreigners from Ankh-Morpork didn’t tend to like sharing personal space. For fear of getting pickpocketed, probably. The lads seemed nice, but after they’d settled in to their rooms, she locked a few storage areas around the inn just in case.

❃♞❃♞❃♞❃

Vetinari was perched on a tree branch high above the ground. He couldn’t tell much about the tree except that the wood was wet to the touch. Screaming birds, frogs, and chirping insects filled the hot, humid air. It was a dense forest, possibly a jungle, and though the sun was shining brightly, the forest floor was dark due to the thickness of the green canopy above. Even so, he could see two figures on the ground below. One was a tiger and the other was a man. The man wore a sleeveless shirt. His arms were modest but solid, and his forearms were generously dusted with light brown hair. The man, who turned out to be John Keel, was backing up as the tiger approached. His gaze flicked up nervously and met Vetinari’s, and Vetinari looked away and focused on the tree he was sitting in.

His tree was so covered in parasitic vines that he wondered how it was still alive. He saw the water droplets on a vivid red orchid’s petals quake and realized the dead wood could not hold him. The branch on which he was perching snapped.

Since this was a dream, he glided gently towards the ground.

“Go, find him,” said his aunt’s voice, which didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. “Warn him! Now!”

Vetinari broke into a sprint, trying to find Keel while keeping an eye out for the tiger. The ground was soft and spongy, but littered with huge fallen trees in various stages of rot that he had to clamber over. Quite soon, he was panting from the effort, but Keel was nowhere to be found.

Then, suddenly, he came to be face-to-face with the tiger. It wasn’t moving. It lay on its belly, dead and monstrously large. In that way peculiar to dreams, Vetinari suddenly knew very clearly that Keel had been swallowed by the tiger, and that if he could only cut him out, he would be alive and fine. With one arm, he pushed the surprisingly light animal carcass onto its back, and with the other, which held a knife he didn’t remember unsheathing, he slit the tiger from clavicle to pelvis. It was like cutting through soft clay; nothing like a real body. No flesh, no bones. There wasn’t even blood.

John Keel was not inside the tiger. Instead, what the tiger contained was a second, smaller tiger. Its fur was soaked with a strange water that felt sticky on Vetinari’s hands when he picked the creature up. Then it opened its eyes, and started wailing in the voice of a human infant.

Vetinari woke up sweating, and didn’t go back to sleep.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

In the morning, the innkeeper’s sister, a fat, pleasant woman explained to the best of her ability, using signs and gestures, that breakfast was served. Three steaming bowls of soup lay on the table in the dining area, giving off a flavorful and savory smell.

“Morning,” yawned Lewis, groggily. “Either of you sleep well last night?” 

“Yes,” lied Vetinari.

“No,” said Downey. “No, it was so  _ cold _ , I could barely get to sleep.”

“Didn’t the innkeeper say there were extra wool blankets in the cupboard in the hall?” asked Lewis mildly.

“Yes,” said Vetinari, “she did.”

He neglected to add that he had tried it and found it locked.

“I don’t know what she does or doesn’t say,” said Downey, “I don’t understand it. And the blanket made me  _ itchy _ . My ears itch right now, on the inside. I need a bath. Adding another blanket would have made me  _ twice  _ as itchy.”

“I’m not quite certain that’s how it works,” Vetinari said.

“And what is this food, anyway?” asked Downey, wrinkling his nose. “Soup for breakfast? Who ever heard of that?”

“It’s quite good,” said Lewis.

“What’s in it?” Downey demanded.

“Potatoes, it looks like,” Vetinari said, “beef rib, scallions definitely, maybe also some onion.”

“And there’s a soft poached egg at the bottom,” added Lewis, “which definitely makes it breakfast.”

“Does it?” asked Vetinari.

“Eggs is breakfast,” Lewis said confidently, “it’s just one of those things.”

“What are the little green, leafy things?” Downey asked skeptically.

Vetinari tasted some of his own soup.

“Cilantro,” he said.

“Eugh,” said Downey. “I don’t eat cilantro.”

“Are you allergic?” asked Vetinari.

“No,” said Downey, defensively, “I just hate the taste.”

“Well, I’ll tell the cook you’re allergic,” said Vetinari, getting up and taking Downey’s bowl with him to the kitchen, “so you don’t come off as rude.”

“Could you see if they have pancakes?” asked Downey, hopefully.

“I don’t know the word for pancakes,” said Vetinari. “I don’t know if they have one. But I’ll try.”

In the end, the request for a flat, round foodstuff did not yield what Downey had been hoping for. The cook, a short, broad man with a coarse black mustache, had started nodding excitedly in comprehension when Vetinari explained what his travelling companion was looking for, but had returned instead with a grilled disc of made of corn flour, and some slices of a mild, crumbly white cheese on the side.

Downey had pulled a face at it, but Lewis had rolled his eyes and said,

“Don’t be such a baby, Rupert. Eat it. If I have to hear you bitch about being hungry later, I’m going to have to ask Vetinari here to pay me to inhume you.”

“Fine,” muttered Downey, and ate the arepa. 

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Though there was not a cloud in sight, the morning was cold and moderately windy and the sun shone feebly. Downey, Vetinari, and Lewis dressed warmly before leaving the inn.

First, they visited the outdoor market. It was in a large square on the way to the central plaza. Tarpaulin-roofed temporary stalls covered the square in a sort of grid, offering meat, cooked meals, eggs, and produce. 

“What in the seven hells is  _ that? _ ” Downey asked, picking up a fruit.

It was about the size of two eggs, and pinkish brown on the outside. Its bottom was flat and its skin was dotted with little clusters of sharp hairs, which Downey would be picking out of his skin for the next hour.

“A fig,” said the woman running the stall, without looking up.

“This isn’t a fig,” he protested.

She looked up and gave him a funny look. Then, for good measure, she gave the same funny look to Lewis and Vetinari.

“You don’t know cactus?” she asked.

“I can’t say we’ve been acquainted, no,” said Vetinari, deadpan.

“You,” she said sharply to Downey, “you buy it or you put it back.”

“We’re buying it,” said Lewis, quickly.

After he had purchased it, he put it in his coat pocket.

A few stalls over, Vetinari examined some small orange-coloured fruits that had a hard, white-dotted shell. He held them lightly in his hands. 

“Do you think you could juggle?” Lewis called.

Vetinari squinted at him. It didn’t sound like a cruel challenge. It sounded like Lewis was curious, and had asked without thinking twice about it. Perhaps he just said things when they came to mind.

“You know,” Lewis clarified loudly, and did a juggling gesture with empty hands.

Immediately, the man in the fruit stall in front of Vetinari shouted,

“¡Eso sí que no, niño! Déjeme las granadillas en paz.”

“I don’t believe it’s permitted,” said Vetinari, meekly returning the fruit to its basket.

He scanned the crowd. Local families were milling about the market stalls. Downey was nowhere in sight. Lewis noticed him looking about.

“He went window-shopping,” Lewis explained. “I wanted to go see the sights.”

“Which sights did you have in mind?”

Lewis shrugged. 

“Mostly I wanted to wander around till I found things to look at.”

There was a bronze statue at the edge of the square. It was of a man exploding in mid-air.

“We could look at that,” Vetinari suggested.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

“I didn’t know you could read Fortillian,” said Lewis.

“I can’t,” said Vetinari.

“But you translated the whole plaque!”

They were sitting on a large stone near the statue of the exploding man. Lewis was trying to figure out how to open the cactus fruit without getting the sharp hairs stuck in his hand.

“Anyone could have told you he was a soldier. The statue’s in uniform.”

Bits of it were, anyway.

“Yes, there is a visual code for this sort of thing, isn’t there?” said Lewis, deadpan. “Like when there’s a horse in a statue and it means something different depending on which hooves are up. When there’s a statue of a man and his arms and legs aren’t attached to him, it’s safe to conclude he died.”

Vetinari smiled into his hand.

“And the alembic on the base could have told me he’d been an alchemist,” Lewis continued.

“As could have the fact that he was exploding,” joked Vetinari.

Alchemists had not yet been able to turn lead into gold, but they had managed to turn a number of things into combustion reactions.

“Definitely,” said Lewis. “Anyway, why’d they put up one plaque saying he blew up the armory to stop it falling into enemy hands, and then put up another, newer plaque under it saying that the story was made up and it was probably an accident? Why keep the statue up at all?”

“I imagine you’d have to find somewhere to put it,” said Vetinari flippantly.

Lewis snorted.

“I mean, yeah. But it has to be something about what the first story stands for, is what I was thinking,” Lewis said. He’d gotten the skin off the cactus fruit with his nails. It was bright magenta and wet inside.

Vetinari blinked at him. Oh. He was trying to make  _ conversation _ .

“Of course,” said Vetinari, “‘Deber antes que vida,’ is pretty important, I should think. You can’t risk people losing faith in it if they find out the story isn’t true, so you have to be honest about what actually happened.”

Lewis nodded.

“Right,” he said, “but I don’t read Fortillian.”

“Nor do I,” insisted Vetinari.

“And I’m the queen of Quirm,” Lewis said. 

“Have a piece of this, by the way,” he added, offering him half of the cactus fruit. “It’s good.”

Vetinari accepted the piece of fruit in his hand. It stained his fingers pink.

“It means, ‘duty before life,’” he explained, “It’s the text right under his name.”

“I could get behind that,” said Lewis.

For a split second, something happened. Vetinari noticed Lewis’ face. It didn’t change in any way. It wasn’t suddenly illuminated by a ray of light, or anything like that. He was just noticing it, noticing his eyes were brown and noticing the way his short, light hair framed his face. 

“Really?” he asked, forgetting his mouth was full of fruit. 

“Don’t see why not,” said Lewis. “You should talk more, by the way.”

“There’s a lot one can learn from being quiet, Lewis,” Vetinari said tetchily.

“Nate,” said Lewis.

“I’m sorry?”

“You can call me Nate or Nathan, if you like.”

“Okay, Lewis, thank you,” said Vetinari.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

They spent most of the day walking around the town, briefly running into Downey at the shops around noon, and sitting down in a tiny public park. After that, the three of them wound up parting ways again.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

In the afternoon, Vetinari decided to explore the central plaza.

It had a temple on one of the sides. It was about two thirds of the size of the cathedral of blind Io back home, which meant that it was rather large. The huge twin doors were carved with a depiction of a waterfall so that when the doors were open, a mighty river seemed to be pouring out of the building. 

Lewis was entering the building. Some minutes later, Vetinari followed him. 

It wasn’t service hours, so none of the candelabra were lit. The temple was dark, and only illuminated by the light outdoors that filtered through the stained-glass windows. The apse of the temple was flat rather than curved, and held the biggest window of all. On it, in brilliant blues and greens, there was a lake, and a woman emerging from it with a baby in her arms. The bottom edge of the great window was lined with images of other gods, her attendants. There were two large snakes at the center, each forming half of a stylized heart. To the left of the snakes, there was a long-bearded old man carrying various tools of civilization. To the right, there was a nude woman: pale, unlike the the other figures, because she was covered in feathers. She had talons and dark eyes like an owl. 

The light from the window fell down towards a statue of the main goddess. It was two meters tall and carved out of salt. There was an altar with raised sides in front of it. 

Vetinari looked down towards the pews, and found Lewis sitting in the third row, deep in contemplation. He approached him silently, and stood in the pew right behind him.

“I didn’t know you were religious, Lewis,” Vetinari said, right into his ear, “or a devotee of Batchue at that.”

Lewis didn’t flinch in surprise. It was terribly annoying.

“Only kind of,” he answered, “I don’t have a particular god I’m devoted to, but gods are gods, so I thought, if we’re in her territory, I might as well stop in, give thanks, say hello to her, and ask for safe travels.”

Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

“In the hopes that the goddess thinks you’re a polite, nice young man?”

Lewis smiled.

“I  _ am _ a polite, nice young man. You’re not religious, are you?”

“No,” said Vetinari. “No, but I do like art and buildings, which is why I came in.”

“Right, right,” said Lewis, still smiling. “It’s pretty in here, isn’t it?”

It was. They walked around the temple in silence, pausing to look at all of the attendant gods’ side chapels. There were signs explaining things, but they weren’t written in Fortillian. They were written in an older language that had been spoken in the region since before Fortille had conquered it. Neither of the young men had been taught it, but they were able to look at the art.

The bells in the town square struck 6:00 pm, and though he knew he was supposed to meet his aunt then, he wanted to finish his tour of the temple with Lewis first. It was nice, lingering in the colonnades.

“D’you have dinner plans?” asked Lewis, once they had emerged back into the plaza.

“No,” said Vetinari. “I’m not hungry yet. Thank you, though.”

And with that, he left.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

“You’re a bit late,” said Roberta Meserole. She was standing in the archway between the bar and the courtyard behind it, sipping a tall glass of something orange and bubbly.

“Making sure I wasn’t followed,” lied Vetinari.

She looked at him doubtfully.

“Okay,” she said, and gestured with her head for him to follow her into the courtyard.

It wasn’t a big space, but it was just big enough for some thin fruit trees and a throwing game. The ground was dirt. There had been a lawn there, originally, but it had been trampled away. Madam sat down at a rickety wooden chair and offered her nephew the chair next to it. They were both facing the men playing the throwing game, which seemed to consist of throwing pucks at an angled clay-covered board to hit tiny exploding targets. A troll had sauntered up to the pitch, and several of the men had rushed to him.

“No, no, no, Caliza, no,” one of them said.

“Caliza, hermano, contra la tabla grande,” another said, “contra la grande que esa es la suya, hermano, pa’ que no nos dañe la nuestra.”

Two more men stood up to guide the troll towards a larger, sturdier clay-covered board that seemed better-suited to withstand his throws. 

“Are you well?” Madam asked Vetinari quietly.

“Hm?” said Vetinari. “Yes, why do you ask?”

“You look morose,” she said.

Vetinari shook his head.

“Just pensive, that’s all. Taking in the new sights. Thinking.”

Madam sipped from her glass. 

“Do you want some?” she asked. “It’s refreshing.”

He took a sip, swallowed it quietly, and returned the glass to his aunt.

“You don’t like it,” she observed.

“No, but thank you,” he said. It had been sweet and carbonated, but still somehow very beery.

“I could get you some juice, instead,” she said with a shrug.

“Thank you,” said Vetinari, “but I’m not thirsty.”

“So,” asked his aunt, “what are you thinking about? What’s on your mind?”

“Lord Snapcase, actually.”

“Oof,” said Roberta, draining her glass. “Heavy stuff.”

“We didn’t manage to change anything,” Vetinari said. “All that plotting, and to what end? More of the same as Winder.”

She fixed him with a look.

“Everything you’ve said is true, Havelock, but you sound so despondent about it. You’re sure you’re well?”

“Yes, aunt Bobbi, I said so, I am.”

“You haven’t changed your plans, have you?” she asked in a quiet voice. 

“Hm?”

“About what you want to do in life. I’d understand if you did, I’d understand if you were disillusioned about it. Do you still want to be Patrician someday?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “Yes, because I intend to be better.”

Madam had never been good at comforting people unless they were in a crisis, and even then, only if it was a crisis she could solve. There was nothing she could do for low-grade sadness, or for grief. She had once attempted to comfort a man on the death of his wife by patting him on the back and saying “there, there,” because in situations where planning and logic did not suffice, there was little else she had to offer. Looking at the same man’s son, she wanted to try her best. Though she had deep affection for her nephew, she was not built for softness except towards cats. There wasn’t a maternal bone in her body. There wasn’t even a maternal tendon or fiddly bit of cartilage. But she wanted to try.

“Then cheer up,” she said, hating the superficial way her voice sounded saying it. “Think of it like this: You will be better. Things will be better in the future and you’ll make them so.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, looking at the dust and rocks on the ground between his feet. “People are awful. I feel awful. Like I’m culpable. Is that strange? To feel guilty that Snapcase is in charge?”

“Yes!” she said firmly. “Look at me, Havelock, look me in the eye. One, you’re seventeen. Two, this isn’t all on your shoulders. We planned Winder’s death. Several people. And in the end, you didn’t even have to lay a finger on him. He was just spooked to death. Three, and this is the big one, we had no way of knowing Snapcase would turn out like that.”

Vetinari nodded. 

“I suppose people can’t be trusted,” he said. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said. 

“But they can’t.”

Her face softened. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you’ll be different. You can have faith in that, at least.”

“I wouldn’t cut down a genius in his prime because he was inconvenient,” Vetinari said, mostly to himself. “I’d keep him around. I’d be cautious, yes, have him watched, but not cut him down. Snapcase was a fool to waste him. I wouldn’t be foolish.”

“Honey,” said Madam, gently, “you know Keel was going to die sooner or later.”

“All men do,” said Vetinari. 

“Not like that,” Madam said, “I mean–an incorruptible man without the power to protect himself in a corrupt place? The squeaky wheel gets the axe, to adapt the saying. Besides, the difference between Snapcase and you isn’t foolishness versus wits. It’s morals.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as good people, necessarily,” Vetinari said, after a pause, “only people who try to do good.”

“That makes sense,” said Madam, “but some people  _ are  _ evil.”

“Yes,” said Vetinari, “most of them. Probably nine out of ten, and we shouldn’t become complacent enough to consider ourselves the one.”

“That’s not what I–” she began.

Her nephew didn’t seem to be looking at her anymore. He was looking off into the distance. 

“Never mind,” she said, standing up and dusting off her hands on her lap. “Let’s buy dinner.”

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

They ate a thick potato stew in the plaza as the sun went down.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Back at the inn, Lewis had already gone to bed early. He’d said something about the altitude making him tired. Downey was playing a game of solitaire on a table in the dining area, which was empty except for him. He flashed a nasty little smile at Vetinari when he walked in.

“So who’s that woman you were eating with in the plaza?” Downey asked. “She’s a looker.”

Vetinari rolled his eyes.

“That’s my aunt, Downey. You know that’s my aunt. You’ve seen her before. I can’t see why you’d ask.”

“Well, I just think it’s funny,” Downey needled, “that you’re related when she’s so attractive and you’re so ugly.”

“That statement doesn’t really work,” said Vetinari mildly, “given that we have the same exact face.”

“Well, she wears it better,” Downey retorted snappily.

Vetinari said nothing.

“Come on! Look, it’s just banter,” Downey said. “No one means anything by it. You never play along! It’s more fun if you play along, yeah? If I say something like ‘so-and-so can get it,’ you’re supposed to say, “not from the likes of you, you’ve got a pig’s aresehole for a face.’ See?”

“And why do I have a squeaky voice in this scenario?” asked Vetinari. 

Downey looked hurt.

“I’m not very good at doing voices, you know. Go on, though! Say something weird and vaguely offensive about  _ my  _ mum.”

“I imagine it’s a very easy job for her,” Vetinari said at last.

“Okay,” said Downey, “a two-parter, huh? Nice start. So why is it an easy job?”

“Because you have a friend who follows you around and does her job for her.”

Downey glared at him.

“Lewis isn’t my fucking mum,” he spat. “Are you making fun of him behind his back? You try spending half your childhood with four younger sisters and one parent and see how you turn out.”

“I’m not making fun of  _ him. _ ” Vetinari said.

“Well if you’re making fun of  _ me _ , it’s a bit rich coming from the boy whose guardian tagged along to  _ babysit _ him.”

“If you say so, Downey.”

“You stop that!” said Downey. “That whole roll-over-and-don’t-fight thing isn’t proper winning, you know. Play along for once!”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” said Vetinari.

Downey huffed and returned to his card game. 

❃♞❃♞❃♞❃

He was running on rooftops in this dream, just like he had in real life before, only the jumps between buildings were easier. He didn’t have to think about the distances or brace himself for impacts. It came to him as naturally as walking. John Keel was running on rooftops on the other side of the street. Not running from or to anything, just running. They were both bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. The sun was beginning to set, but it was still hot out. Heat was radiating from the roof tiles under their feet.

I have to catch him, Vetinari thought. There’s something I’m supposed to tell him.

He only had the haziest idea of what it was, but he started running after him. 

The city in the dream was Ankh-Morpork, but not quite. It felt familiar, but there were buildings he had never seen before, and buildings he had that weren’t in the right place. The temples on Small Gods street were livelier colours, and the river was narrower and not as brown. 

Vetinari had lost sight of Keel. He looked around, out over the city, which was awash in orange setting-sun light. Keel was behind him, some two roofs away, and he was running at him. The pursuer was now the pursued.

That was...unexpected. How had he managed that? Vetinari leapt away onto a nearby roof, and kept running. Wait, he thought as he jumped over the alleyway behind a greengrocer’s shop, wait. I  _ want _ him to catch me.

So he stopped again, this time on a flat roof, and leaned back against a tall, wide chimney. Its bricks were still warm from the sun. Keel was still coming towards him. They were on the same roof now, and Keel had slowed down to a walk, which Vetinari didn’t think was fast enough.

“I’m supposed to tell you something,” Vetinari said, “put your ear up to my mouth.”

Keel did so. The two of them stood practically cheek to cheek, and Vetinari could feel Keel’s breath on his neck. He leaned closer to tell him, but he couldn’t remember what it was that he had to tell him, so he just brushed his lips against Keel’s stubble. Keel wasn’t a very big man, but his hands were. His hands were big and warm. They were certainly rough, weathered hands, but he kept them clean and well-groomed. And they were on Vetinari’s chest, for some reason, pushing him back against the warm bricks. Something in his stomach caught, and his skin felt tight. Keel’s hands moved lower on his body. They were on his belly now. Now, they were grabbing him by the waist, tightly, pulling him closer, pressing both of their hips closer together...

Vetinari gasped so loudly that he woke himself up. His body was still shaking slightly as he came to. Later, he burned that pair of underwear in the inn-room’s fireplace.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

Vetinari was ashamed. Not for the nocturnal emission, which was a fact of nature, but for his obsession with a dead man. He was sorry he had died, but feeling sorry never brought anybody back. You couldn’t mourn a stranger in the personal sense, could you? You could mourn them as a sentient being, in an abstract sense, but did you have the  _ right  _ to mourn someone  _ personally _ if you hadn’t known them well? And if you mourned them anyway, was it really them you were mourning, or was it your idea of what they represented? 

Things in dreams never meant what they meant on the surface, anyway. A dream about desire wasn’t necessarily about desire, he told himself. Perhaps it was about idealism. Perhaps it was about guilt.

It became less easy to tell himself that when John Keel continued to haunt his mental landscape by night. There were other dreams, but the vast majority weren’t erotic. They were worse. They were emotional. Enjoyable, interesting, imbued with a sense of companionship. Vetinari and Keel navigating a forgotten labyrinth under a city. He and Keel fending off a dragon as a team. He and Keel living in a house together; no sort of narrative, just flashes of things like a garden seen through a kitchen window. It was maddening.

Vetinari wasn’t superstitious, but in his journal, which was more of an aide-memoire than a narrative, he wrote:

_ Haunting?  _

Obviously, it wasn’t the real spirit of John Keel. It was just an idea in his own mind. But perhaps the idea wanted something. He also wrote:

_ Wants? _

What did it want? And for that matter, what did he, Vetinari want? What had he expected of the man? He would have liked to get to know him, to work alongside him, to learn from him, to have an ally. He was also forced to admit that, while he might not have been conscious of it at the time, he had also been interested in him on a level besides intellectual. 

Vetinari didn’t like being attracted to a dead man. It was the deadness, not the manness that was the problem. He’d long since realized he wasn’t cut out for marriage to a woman, and hadn’t seen any problem with it. His closest living relative was, after all, not cut out for marriage to a man. He’d realized he felt something about men a few months ago, during a sparring match at school. Grent Clavel had caught his attention for a second too long, and Vetinari’s opponent had used the moment of distraction to nick him on the wrist.

Cleaning the blood from the scratch afterwards, he’d thought to himself, really? Clavel? But he’s so dull! And that was all there had been to it. 

It was the deadness, not the manness that was the problem. It felt bad to want things that would never be possible. Nothing could come of dead-end desire.

So he starved himself of sleep as much as possible for the last two nights in Vildeyva, so as not to have dreams. If you were bone-tired when you went to sleep, your mind wouldn’t usually bother you with any pictures. The same trick worked with alcohol but fortunately he didn’t like the taste. And of course, you couldn’t dream if you didn’t sleep at all.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

“How good’s the translation?” whispered Lewis.

“Hrrnk?” said Vetinari, opening his eyes.

They were leaning against a wall in an old house that had been converted into a museum. It had belonged to the man who had translated the rights of man, dwarf, and troll from Quirmian to Fortillian, which had played a role of some sort, Lewis wasn’t sure exactly what, in Sto Lombia’s rebellion against the Fortillian crown.

The room they were standing in contained a very old engraving press with a big spoked wheel on the side. There were posters on one of the walls of the Quirmian and Fortillian versions of the document.

“How’s it compare across languages?” Lewis asked.

“There wouldn’t be a museum about it if it was bad,” Downey said. “Why are you asking  _ him _ ?”

“Cause he reads Fortillian!”

Vetinari shook his head wearily.

“Not a word of it,” he confessed. “I can only piece it together passably from what I know of Quirmian and Brindisian.”

“Hah!” said Downey. “See?”

Lewis ignored him.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem out of it. People get sick sometimes, when they travel. You’re not sick, are you?”

Lewis pressed the back of his hand to Vetinari’s forehead. He didn’t feel anything unusual. Vetinari let his hand linger for one second, and then gently pulled it away.

“Thank you for your concern,” he said quietly, in a tone that implied, please don’t show me any more of it. “I’m just tired.”

They  _ had _ been walking around a lot that morning. There was no need to invent a reason for the lack of sleep, but if pressed, he could claim it was too cold at nights, which was something that Downey had already mentioned. Vetinari hoped Lewis wouldn’t ask. He didn’t like lying to him. He would if he had to, but he wouldn’t like it.

Lewis did not ask.

“Fair enough,” he said, “let’s go find some lunch.”

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

After a stay of four days in Vildeyva, which had given the horses ample time to rest and recover, they were back on the road. They were due to pass through the Kingdom of Lancre in a few days, without staying for long. There was an inn in Lancre Town, where they would stay the night, and then they would leave in the morning. 

The guidebook, which wasn’t very thorough to begin with, didn’t say much about Lancre. Apparently, there were witches in it, but witches weren’t a tourist attraction, and would be righteously and sharply annoyed at anyone who treated them as such. The guidebook also mentioned scumble, a strong drink made from apples (mostly).

“Let’s get smashed,” said Downey, “and meet some local girls.”

“That’s a piss-poor idea,” said Lewis, without looking up from the book, “pick one or the other.”

Downey thought about it.

“Well, they don’t have that apple drink back home,” Downey pronounced at last, “whereas girls exist everywhere.”

“Good point,” said Lewis. 

The country changed as they came down from the mountains. The trees grew taller and thicker. Pretty soon, the farmland receded till there was nothing  _ but _ trees on either side of the road, with the rare rest stop along the way. They didn’t tend to be closer than twenty miles from each other. 

They were in an ocean of dark green, but it smelled like pine sap and wet soil instead of salt.

Vetinari had finished the book he was reading half an hour ago. Lewis didn’t like to read on coaches because he got too dizzy. He was permanently looking out of the window. Downey liked to sketch, but he got increasingly frustrated every time the coach jolted and ruined whatever line he was drawing, which was quite often.

“Let’s play a tree-spotting game,” Lewis suggested.

“Oh look, a tree,” said Downey drily. “Oh look, another.”

“Yes, but what kind? Say what kind and then I’ll try to find it.”

“All right,” said Downey, “I see a pine.”

“There,” said Lewis, pointing out the window.

“On  _ this _ side of the coach,” said Downey.

“Is it that one?” asked Vetinari, indicating another tree.

“Yes.”

“That’s a fir,” said Vetinari.

Lewis furrowed his brow.

“Aren’t they the same? They both have pine cones.”

“The needles are different.”

“‘The needles are different.’ No one cares,” said Downey.

“How about a birch?” asked Lewis, “anyone see a birch?”

This game went on for longer than it should have, and not much of it bore description. After a while, Downey declared,

“This tree game is boring as hell.”

“Well, we could play something else,” conceded Lewis, “I’ll start. The minister’s cat is an a, abominable cat.”

“The minister’s cat is an a, abominable, b,  _ boring _ cat,” snapped Downey. “And don’t use that tone of voice with me, Lewis. It makes you sound like you think you’re my fucking mum.”

Lewis huffed and put his hands up in the air. He turned away from Downey and pressed his cheek against the window-pane.

They rode for another thirty minutes in silence, till the coachman, Alan, rapped on the roof.

“Yes, Mister Davings?” answered Vetinari.

“If you gentlemen happen to be wanting to stop and stretch your legs anytime soon, just let me know, right?” said Alan.

“Thank you,” said Vetinari. “Do  _ you _ wish to stretch your legs, Mister Davings?”

Alan paused for a moment.

“Aye, I’d like to, actually,” he said politely. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, lads?”

“I think I need a stretch too,” said Lewis.

Downey said nothing. He’d fallen asleep. His head was at an uncomfortable angle and there was spittle leaking out of the corner of his mouth.

Alan slowed the coach to a stop. Lewis got off first, and then offered his hand to help Vetinari step down from the coach. He got nothing for that but a stern glare from Vetinari, who stepped down from the coach unassisted and walked directly into the dark green forest.

“Wait,” Lewis called after him, “wait!”

Lewis found him about ten paces into the forest, in the shade, leaning against the trunk of a broad, dark oak, taking measured, deep breaths.

“It was suffocating in the coach,” Vetinari said. “I was afraid I might pass out.”

“Yes,” said Lewis. “Look, I’m sorry about Downey. Deep down, he’s actually quite nice, but he doesn’t know how to–”

“Why?” asked Vetinari sharply.

“Oh, er,” began Lewis, “I mean, he was being an ass, wasn’t he?”

“What I meant is, why is it  _ your _ job to apologize for him?”

Lewis puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

“Well, whether it is or isn’t, he’s, you know, he’s my friend and–”

Here, he put a hand on Vetinari’s shoulder. Vetinari’s gaze flitted briefly to his hand, but otherwise, he didn’t seem to react to the touch, either positively or negatively.

“It’s just, I don’t want you to think that I–” Lewis continued awkwardly, “Look, I want  _ us _ to get along. We could be friends.”

Lewis looked back at the road, and then, with his free hand took Vetinari’s hand in his own.

“We could be friends, yeah?” Lewis asked.

“We could,” said Vetinari neutrally. He shrugged Lewis’ hand off his shoulder, and Lewis quickly let go of his hand.

“Oh,” said Lewis, “sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Lewis sat down on a fallen log and picked up a twig he found on the ground. He started twirling it in his hand, waiting for Vetinari to make conversation. Since none was forthcoming, Lewis had to make it himself.

“So, uh,” he said, “what are you doing after this? You know, like after your travels?”

“Continuing my studies at the guild school,” replied Vetinari, “I thought you knew that.”

“And after that?” asked Lewis, scratching the ground and pushing fallen pine needles this way and that with the twig, “You gonna be an Assassin?”

Vetinari shrugged.

“That future is still some time away,” he said diplomatically.

Lewis put down the twig he was playing with.

“Look, it’s fine if you  _ do _ want to be an Assassin, you know. You don’t have to say you don’t because I don’t. No pressure, yeah? I’m fine with other people being Assassins. I mean, it would be weird if I went to Assassin school and was against Assassins.”

“It’s kind of you to be concerned, Lewis,” said Vetinari, “but I don’t think you could pressure me to say or do anything.”

“That’s good, I guess,” said Lewis.

“What are  _ you _ doing after?” Vetinari asked gently.

“Me? I’m going to be an apothecary,” he said.

“You’d be good at it.”

Lewis looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh,” he said, “thanks.”

“It’s just like poisons in reverse,” said Vetinari solemnly. “Plus, we already know all the tiny weights from class.”

Lewis laughed silently to himself.

“I mean, yeah,” he said, “it is, a bit. My dad’s uncle’s going to train me. He’s got a shop out in Pseudopolis that he wants to pass on to me. Wants it to stay in the family.”

“His children don’t want it?”

“No children.”

“And you’ll pass it on to your children in due time?”

Lewis shook his head.

“Probably not. I don’t think I’ll get married, actually.”

“Neither will I.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and silence hung in the air.

“Marriage as an institution,” continued Vetinari, “benefits men more than it does women. That doesn’t seem just. And I don’t want somebody in my house.”

“Oh,” said Lewis. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have somebody in your house, though?”

“I’d be willing to hear arguments in favour,” said Vetinari, “but I don’t think I’ll be convinced.”

“But why  _ don’t _ you want somebody in your house?”

“Well, what if someone came to kill me and killed the wrong person, either accidentally or intentionally? I couldn’t live with that.”

Lewis blinked and stood up.

“Sorry, Vetinari, if someone  _ what?  _ Why are people coming to kill you in this future you’re imagining? People don’t get killed by other people nearly as much as our profs would have us believe. It’s mostly accidents and illnesses, you know.”

“I know, but–”

“It’s this school of ours,” Lewis said, “it messes people up, my stepmum says. And she’s right. Do you really think people want to kill you?”

“Not yet.”

“No offense,” Lewis said, “but what the fuck are you talking about? Are you serious or are you just saying this because you don’t want to answer my question?”

“Which one?” said Vetinari.

“The one about– never mind,” said Lewis. “Sorry I asked. Let’s get back to the coach.”

**❃♞❃♞❃♞❃**

The road was fairly even, and the sun had started to go down. The next stop was, fortunately, less than an hour out. Vetinari was fairly exhausted, and the rocking of the coach seemed to be having a lulling effect on his travelling companions. Downey and Lewis were out cold. Lewis was snoring softly on Downey’s shoulder. The coach was dark inside. Vetinari wasn’t falling asleep, though. He was only closing his eyes for a bit.

There was a big, warm hand on his shoulder, and another hand holding his other hand. His heart sped up.

“We could be friends,” said Lewis’ voice.

But it wasn’t Lewis’ face. Some moonlight filtered in through the window. It was John Keel’s face.

“You,” said Vetinari.

“There are many things we could be,” murmured Keel. 

Keel was standing over Vetinari now. One of his hands was on Vetinari’s thigh for support, and the other was cupping the side of his head. 

“Oh,” said Vetinari breathlessly.

There was a kiss. It did not lack enthusiasm. 

A hot shiver passed through Vetinari’s body. His head lolled back. The warmth of Keel’s hand felt pleasant on his thigh, and it was moving much too slowly towards the front of his trousers. And yet–

“We shouldn’t,” said Vetinari. He wasn’t exactly sure why they shouldn’t but he felt quite sure no one should do anything they wanted that much.

Keel stilled and drew away.

“I’m too tired for this right now anyway,” Vetinari said.

“What?” said Lewis’ voice.

Vetinari jolted awake. The moonlight was gone. It was dark inside the coach again

“What?” said Vetinari.

“Were you saying something?” asked Lewis in a whisper, so as not to wake Downey.

“I don’t think I was,” whispered Vetinari. “You’ve just woken me up.”

“Oh,” said Lewis, “You must have been sleep-talking. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Vetinari. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

When they arrived in Lancre Town after two more days of travel, it was evening. Mr. Davings stabled the horses next to a golem the size of two men while the youths checked in at the inn.

“The thing is, right,” the innkeeper was saying, “I’ve got four rooms total and there’s four of you, right? But one of the rooms is already booked, so you’ll have to sort yourselves out with three. Sorry.”

“It won’t be a problem, sir,” Vetinari told him. Then he turned to Downey and Lewis.

“You two are sharing,” he informed them.

“Are we?” Lewis asked.

“Absolutely,” said Vetinari flatly, “and it’s for your own sake. I snore monstrously. I was informed of this by a former roommate.”

“Didn’t you have a single dorm?” asked Lewis.

“That’s probably  _ why _ ,” said Downey. “Who cares anyway? Let’s put our bags away and go out before it gets dark.”

Lewis shrugged.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

The bartender at the Goat and Bush initially refused to serve them real scumble on the grounds that soft, beardless city boys didn’t look like they could handle it. He hadn’t said as much, but Downey had furiously accused him of implying it till he gave in, with a gesture that implied that whatever happened, it would be  _ their  _ problem.

Downey returned to the table with their drinks.

“That’s the way you’ve got to do it, sometimes,” he said. “Bottoms up.”

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

“Don’t get why you’re not gonna be an Assassin, though,” Downey was saying, “you’d be  _ good _ . Like,  _ really  _ good!”

“I gotta be an apothec’ry,” Lewis insisted. “I  _ have _ to.”

“Because your family wants you to?” Vetinari asked.

“No!” said Lewis, “ _ I  _ want me to. S’helpful for people, so I have to.”

Downey shook his head sadly.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered.

“I do,” said Vetinari.  

Lewis beamed.

“ _ He _ gets it!” he said triumphantly. “Thank you!”

“And what are  _ you _ going to be, then, Vetinari?” Downey said, squinting at him.

“Easy,” Vetinari answered, without missing a beat, “Master of the Dog Guild.”

Downey snorted some of his drink out his nose, and laughed so hard that he started tearing up.

“You’re all right sometimes, you know?” Downey said. “Not all the time, but sometimes.”

“Most of the time,” offered Lewis.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” said Vetinari, feeling his face heat up.

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

None of them would remember why they’d wound up lying down at the edge of a field, or how they’d reached it, but fortuitously, the moon was out in full brightness, illuminating the dirt path they’d taken to get there. 

“S’nice, innit?” said Lewis.

“Hm?” said Vetinari.

“Lookin’ at the stars, being far from home where nobody knowsh you.”

Vetinari said nothing. Lewis rolled over on his side to look at him.

“Hey, Vetinari,” he whispered with a wide, lopsided grin, “I think Downey’s asleep again.”

He certainly was. Downey was lying on his side with a hand under his cheek, and his eyes were closed. He was breathing slowly.

“So he is,” said Vetinari.

“You’re a little strange but you’re nice, mostly,” mused Lewis.

“I’ll take the part of that that’s a compliment.”

Lewis laughed, snorting a little.

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, “I was thinking, er, it’s okay ‘f you don’t wann somebody in your house, and I was thinking, I’m gonna to be living in Pseudopolis after, so in th,’ er, in th’ meantime, maybe–”

He tried to shrug, but he was lying on his side, and the gesture just made him wobble. He burst out laughing at himself.

“S’okay if you snore, y’ know,” Lewis said, earnestly. “I snore.”

There was a long pause.

Vetinari allowed himself to look at Lewis and his gentle dark eyes, and his hair messily falling on his face. He permitted himself this for twenty seconds.

“We should get up,” said Vetinari, abruptly. “The grass is wet and it’s going to stain our clothes.”

Lewis looked crestfallen.

“You’re right, I guess,” he said.

Lewis and Vetinari staggered to their feet. Vetinari brushed wet dirt and grass off the backs of his own legs as Lewis tenderly kicked Downey’s shoe with his own.

“Get up, Rupert, you drunk,” Lewis said gently. “Let’s get you indoors.” 

❃♘❃♘❃♘❃

They staggered back to the inn. Once inside, Downey took off his boots and made a beeline for the better bed in his room, without so much as a word to anyone. Lewis and Vetinari stood in the corridor. Lewis’ face was flushed, and he was staring at the ground before his feet.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “Being too forward, aren’t I? I’ll stop. We can just forget.”

“Nate,” said Vetinari, “you’re not doing anything wrong. It’s– I wish I could, you know, but– I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Lewis quietly.

They each went into their own room.

**❃♞❃♞❃♞❃**

Vetinari was dreaming again, leaning against a low tree in a field of tall grass. It was dusk, and the sky was turning periwinkle. A light, warm wind was blowing, making the surface of the grass ripple like waves. Vetinari’s eyes narrowed. About three yards away, there was something crouching in the grass. He couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe it was a wild animal; a tiger camouflaged in the tall grass by its stripes. 

No. It was a man. It was Keel again, gods damn him, haunting him again in his sleep. 

Vetinari sighed.

“I’d like to stop meeting you like this,” he said. 

Keel said nothing. He continued to stare Vetinari down from out of the tall grass.

“You’re not real, you know,” Vetinari said. “I’ve figured out what you represent.”

“I know,” said the Keel-shaped idea in a low, even voice.

“I’m sorry,” said Vetinari.

“Not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t keep dreaming about you.”

“Why?” Keel asked.

Vetinari thought about it, sighed, and sat down cross-legged at the base of the tree. He gestured for Keel to come out of the tall grass and sit down with him, so he could look him in the face as he told him. Keel sat down, also cross-legged, across from him.

“It’s just not an option I should permit myself. Part of my mind understands this, part of my mind doesn’t want to. Do you understand this?”

Keel said nothing.

“Sink into the ground if you understand,” Vetinari commanded, rising to his feet.

The dirt where Keel was sitting began to give way, as if it were mud. Keel looked up at him with suppliant eyes, but did not move.

It was sickening to watch. But no one could accuse him of not giving the dead proper burial.

Vetinari hated it, and hastened to wake up.

It was the same set of tricks he used to wake himself out of sleep paralysis whenever it struck. He focused on twitching the muscles in his fingers, toes, and face. Then he hyperventilated till he was back in the inn-room bed. It was still dark out, and it was raining again, loudly.

He wanted a glass of water. 

There was a table in the corridor, he remembered, that had a pitcher, a basin, and some ceramic cups. The man who ran the inn had said that the water had been boiled, and was safe to drink.

Then he figured, if he was getting up, he might as well dress and shave too. He couldn’t grow much more than a patchy moustache yet, but he thought it looked untidy and preferred not to have it.

He got up. The floor was cold under his bare feet.

Once dressed, Vetinari went out into the corridor, had a cup of water, washed his face, unpacked his kit, and removed the offending hair.

Out of the corner of his shaving mirror, he saw some movement.

“Good morning, Aunt Bobbi,” he said, turning around.

Madam smiled blearily. She was still wearing her long, high-necked nightgown.

“What are you _ doing, _ Havelock?” 

**“** Just starting the day early,” he answered.

“At four AM?” Madam asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. And you?”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep,” she said, between yawns. “I was having bad dreams.”

“No, you weren’t,” said Vetinari.

“No,” she agreed. “The rain woke me up. Were you? There’s this look you get sometimes, on your face. Like you’re trying to forget something.”

Vetinari said nothing.

“You know,” she said, “we both saw some things in the revolution. It happens, sometimes, after things like that, people get– There were about twenty minutes where I thought you’d been killed, you know. Worst twenty minutes of my life. If I prayed, I’d thank the gods you weren’t. But still, sometimes when I’m sleeping, it’s still those twenty minutes.”

“Is that why you’re following our travelling party?” he asked.

“I don’t know if it’s  _ following _ ,” Madam demurred, “as much as meeting up at some stops on my way back to Genua. But yes, it is, a bit, I’ll admit. I’m not following too close, am I?”

“I don’t want to push you away,” began Vetinari cautiously.

“But? It’s fine, you know, I can give you more space. I’d understand. There’s things that young men don’t want aunts close at hand for.”

“What? Gods, Madam, no, it’s not– there’s none of that. There isn’t going to be any of that. No, I have to learn to be alone.”

Madam’s gaze softened.

“Could you explain what you mean by that?”

“That I do appreciate your support in following our travelling party for protection but I must not learn to rely on it,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, “just that. I thought you meant– Never mind. I don’t think you’re  _ relying _ on me, Havelock. I can give you more space, you know. That’s fine. It’s the mindset that worries me. You can’t do everything by yourself. You must learn to delegate too.”

He nodded.

“Ah,” she said, clapping her hand to her forehead. “It’s not actually that at all, is it? I’ve been spotted by one of your friends. Is that it?”

“I didn’t want to embarass you,” Vetinari said apologetically.

“Gods, I’m an idiot,” she said to herself, “He probably saw me in the plaza, didn’t he? Shouldn’t have gone into it. Sorry.”

“Never mind that,” said Vetinari. 

“Gods,” she was muttering to herself, “out in the plaza and everything.”

“What did you think I meant, by the way?” Vetinari asked.

“I thought you meant alone in  _ life _ ,” she said. “People like us sometimes– look, caution’s fine, but not isolation. It can be a hard life, but it can also be a good one. Someone should have told me that at your age, that whole thing.”

Madam yawned again. 

“I hope that was coherent,” she said. “It’s far too early. My point is, good thing you didn’t mean it like that.”

“Good thing,” he agreed.

  
  



	2. annotations

**Locations:**

Terry gave us fantasy mesoamerica in Eric, and I’m giving you fantasy the Andes now, for free. In fact, a very specific place in fantasy the Andes, for no other reason than 1) I can and 2) my entire family is Colombian, and I have lived in Colombia.

Fortille- Fantasy Spain.

Sto Lombia- Fantasy Colombia.

Vildeyva- Fantasy Villa de Leyva. If you tell me it’s thinly-veiled, I’ll say, it’s  _ veiled? _

 

**Foods I wish I were eating right now:**

[ Caldo de costilla ](https://antojandoando.com/recetas/caldo-de-costilla/) (what Vetinari and Lewis have for breakfast the first day in Vildeyva. I can make a decent one.)

[ Arepa ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arepa) \+ queso blanco (what Downey has for breakfast the first day in Vildeyva, since he doesn't like cilantro. They're super easy to make but if you are one of the people who insist on mixing cheese into the dough itself instead of just putting the cheese on top or inside, it will be difficult for us to become friends.)

[ Fruto de cactus ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opuntia_ficus-indica) (what Lewis buys at the market and shares with Vetinari. You _can_ open it with your bare hands. I've certainly done it. But a knife is better because otherwise you're picking the little sharp hairs out of the skin on your fingers for at least a day.)

[ Granadilla ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Passiflora_ligularis) (what the man at the market tells Vetinari not to juggle, and for good reason too, because they taste really good and it would be a pity to have them go to waste.)

[ Refajo ](https://www.mycolombianrecipes.com/colombian-refajo-refajo-colombiano) (what Madam is drinking when she meets with Vetinari.)

[ Ajiaco ](https://www.mycolombianrecipes.com/ajiaco-bogotano-colombian-chicken-and) (the thick potato soup that Vetinari and Madam eat for dinner in the plaza. I can make a very good one.)

 

**Customs:**

[ Tejo ](https://theculturetrip.com/south-america/colombia/articles/tejo-colombias-national-sport/) (the throwing game that the men and the troll are playing in the background when Madam meets with Vetinari)

 

**The Temple in the plaza:**

My imagined temple is extremely syncretistic. The architecture itself is quite Catholic, but the gods in it are  [ Muisca ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muisca) deities. The real Villa de Leyva has a Catholic church where I’ve decided to put a temple to the deities of the first peoples of the region. None of the signs in the temple are in fantasy Spanish because I’d like to imagine a scenario where the Chibcha language(s) are more prevalent. Besides, imposing a western-style church building, even on a fictionalized version of another culture was too much of a transgression already!

Bachue- The ancestress of the Muisca people, who came out of a lake. She’s not exactly the head of the pantheon, but she’s hugely important, being the first mother and all that.

Bochica (bearded old man)-  The god that taught the humans how to do things, and how to live.

Huitaca (owl woman)- Something of a character. Turned into an owl by Bochica for telling people to let loose and not follow his teachings.

 

**Historical figures who have statues and museums in Villa de Leyva:**

[ Antonio Ricaurte ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonio_Ricaurte) \- He gets a verse in the Colombian national anthem, but the anthem also has like, eleven stanzas. (Gee, Colombia, how come your mom lets you have eleven stanzas?) His statue in Villa de Leyva does not feature him exploding into bits. Also, he wasn’t an alchemist, sorry.

[ Antonio Nariño ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonio_Nari%C3%B1o) \- Translated the rights of man from French into Spanish. His house is a museum now.

 

**Translation of Spanish text:**

In the market:

_ Immediately, the man in the fruit stall in front of Vetinari shouted, _

_ “¡Eso sí que no, niño! Déjeme las granadillas en paz.”  _

_ (“Absolutely not, kid! You leave my granadillas in peace.”) _

_ “I don’t believe it’s permitted,” said Vetinari, meekly returning the fruit to its basket. _

 

In the background while Vetinari meets with Madam:

_ “No, no, no, Caliza, no,” one of them said. _

_ “Caliza, hermano, contra la tabla grande,” another said, “contra la grande que esa es la suya, hermano, pa’ que no nos dañe la nuestra.” _

_ (“Limestone, bro, [throw it] at the big board,” another said, “at the big board, cause that’s the one that’s yours, bro, so’s you don’t damage ours.”) _

**Author's Note:**

> If you felt like things in Vildeyva were references to something, you are correct! The next chapter is not a continuation of the fic, but an explanation of the references.


End file.
